Morph...by aeon
She glanced out the window, taking in 360 degrees of vision in one quick,
unbroken motion, making sure to check UP this time. She rubbed her head,
scratching the four-inch scar on her temple, remembering the time she'd
forgotten.
Satisfied that there were no ninjas, mercenaries, assassins, cops, or
vampires after her tonight, she decided it was safe enough to venture out.
Slipping out of her velour bathrobe, and scritching her cat behind
outstretched ears, she climbed out on the windowsill, enjoying the cool
midnight air on her bare skin.
With nothing between her ebon flesh and the night sky, she pulled the window
shut behind her and leapt 22 feet (she'd measured) across to the next
rooftop, rolling twice and coming up in a crouch, just in case. Nothing to
it. Realizing she was acting like a kid out playing 'kill-the-mutant,' she
stood in a half crouch and decided to cut the acrobatics unless it became
necessary, lest she break her arm or twist her ankle or get a loose piece of
tar suck somewhere delicate.
She'd starting doing her runs naked, or "nekkid," as Gramma Cat said it,
last year after getting a loose backstrap snagged on a satellite uplink,
nearly killing her in the process and landing her in stasis imprisonment,
doing a 5 year simterm for attempted burglary. It wasn't burglary. It had
been nothing of the sort. It had been attempted murder, but she wasn't there
to testify, and pleading guilty to a greater crime, she guessed, wasn't a
good idea. Besides, she knew better than to argue ... there was no pity for
morphs, or goths of any kind, in the court system.
Anyway, the day after she'd been subjected to the VR equivalent of boarding
school, she went back and finished the job, bare-assed. Yeah, it was funny.
The look on his face as a naked, silver-skinned woman slithered through his
barred window, climbed on top of him, shaped her arm into a twenty-inch
blade and plunged it into his face was hillarious. Amazement, wonder, fear,
and, yes, even lust, were on his face at that moment. She was killing him,
and the bastard was staring at her naked flesh, gawking. Typical corporate
scum.
But tonight was another night, another murder, in another part of the city.
Nothing else mattered, and not much was certain. All she was sure of was the
feel of the cool dome air on her skin, the rippling of her malleable face
and the scent of blood in the air. It was going to be a good night.
